The Glass Cane
by Spiro911
Summary: Little Hamish Watson-Holmes has a nightmare so his Daddy tells him the story of how John Watson, with the help of his umbrella wielding Fairy Godmother, ends up marrying Sherlock, the Prince of Baker. Cinderella Sherlock AU written for the Let's Write Sherlock challenge 2


Little Hamish Watson-Holmes shuffled into his Daddy and Papa's room. He found his Papa awake despite the lateness of the hour leaning against the headboard with his laptop in his lap. Hamish could make out the top of his Daddy's blonde head lying close to Papa. His Papa looked up at the sound of sniffling. His pale eyes took in the sight of his son's red-rimmed eyes, tear stained cheeks, and trembling body.

Papa set aside his laptop, "Come here Hamish," he said softly before he nudged Daddy. "John, wake up. Hamish has had a nightmare."

Daddy emerged from the blankets rubbing his eyes and yawning, "A nightmare?" He asked blinking at Hamish who had inched his way to the foot of their bed. The little boy nodded in reply and his bottom lip began to tremble.

"Oh! Don't cry, my love," Daddy easily lifted him off the floor and onto the bed, fitting him in between his two fathers.

"Yes," Papa agreed as he rubbed Hamish's back in a soothing manner, "No need for tears; everyone has nightmares."

Hamish stared up at him with wide blue eyes, "Really? Even you?"

Papa smiled down at him, "Yes even me."

That seemed to cheer the little boy up somewhat and he even managed to give his Papa a tiny smile back before he turned to stare at his lap. He appeared to be contemplating something as he gnawed at his bottom lip. Hamish turned suddenly to his Daddy with big pleading, puppy dog eyes, "Will you tell me a story? Because your stories are the best and I don't want to go back to sleep."

"A story? Of course I'll tell you a story," Daddy grinned down at the boy who let out a sigh of relief. Daddy leaned his head up against the headboard and mutter under his breath, "Now I just need to figure out a story to tell."

They sat together for a long moment before Papa let out a loud exclamation of 'Oh!' and leaned over to whisper into Daddy's ear. Hamish watched as Daddy nodded along with what Papa was saying.

"Wait. Why do you get to be the prince?" Daddy scowled at Papa who just rolled his eyes.

"It's only logical, John."

"Insufferable," Daddy grumbled but continued listening to what Papa was telling him.

Finally Daddy pulled away from Papa and the two of them smiled down at Hamish, who was practically vibrating with excitement (Daddy's stories really were the best). Daddy drew him onto his lap then cleared his throat.

"Once upon a time…"

_.-.-.-._

A long time ago, there was once a kingdom called Baker. This Kingdom of Baker was peaceful and prosperous. Everyone in Baker was happy…well, almost everyone. In the whole of Baker there were only two unhappy people. One of these people happened to be the sole prince of Baker, Prince Sherlock.

Sherlock was curled up facing the back of his couch in his personal chambers when the Queen of Baker decided to step in for a chat.

"Sherlock, look at the mess you've made," The Queen tutted as she moved around the large room picking up discarded clothing and objects.

"I thought you said you weren't my maidservant," Sherlock's voice was muffled in the couch.

The Queen sighed, "I'm not."

"Then why are you cleaning my chambers?"

She ignored his question but stopped cleaning up, she could tell it was a lost cause, "Sherlock, dear, you need to quit pouting. This masquerade ball won't kill you-"

"It might," Sherlock mumbled sulkily.

She continued on as he hadn't spoken, "and you are one day to be king so it's about time you find a suitable future queen or-"

Sherlock snorted ineloquently.

"Or consort."

Sherlock had been informed mere hours ago that the Queen was hosting a masquerade ball tonight for all the eligible young men and women of the kingdom in hope that the prince would find his future spouse amongst the guests.

The prince huffed and flung himself into a sitting position, "I don't want one of those things!" He spat then growled out, "People are dull, stupid, and useless. I don't need to marry one."

The Queen sighed again and sat gracefully next to Sherlock, "But you have to."

Sherlock glared at the wall, "No I don't."

"It's what the people expect of you," She explained calmly whilst stroking his unruly dark curls.

Sherlock pouted and slumped, "I don't care about what the people expect of me," he said softly.

The Queen hummed and kept stroking his hair, "You know what? I think I have an idea. If you promise to try and find someone at the ball but not one single person catches your fancy, then you don't have to marry anyone and we can tell the people to bugger off. Sound good?"

Sherlock blinked at her, "That sounds reasonable."

"So do you promise? I want to hear you say it," The Queen smiled fondly at him.

"Yes, I promise."

"Oh good!" She hopped to her feet, "I've got a lot of planning to do before tonight," She was nearly at the door when she turned back towards the prince, "And before I forget, you have a fitting in a half an hour with Ms. Adler."

Sherlock groaned and flopped back down onto the couch.

_.-.-.-._

The second unhappy person in the Kingdom of Baker was John Watson. John hadn't always been unhappy. At one point he had been very happy, in fact. He had been the son of a captain of the Royal Army and a kind and lovely seamstress. When his father had died in battle his mother had been forced to remarry a snake of a man named James Moriarty. John and his mother had to then move in with the man and his two daughters Sally and Andercina. (However, the latter of the two John wasn't quite sure was a women. He, along with most people, just tried to avoid using specific pronouns around Andercina). James was charming and brilliant actor. Everyone who knew him thought he was some sort of hero that was so amazing to take in the poor widow and her son. Within three months of moving in with Moriarty and his children John's mother died. Without his mother, who had acted as a sort of protection against Moriarty, John was subjugated to the torment of the Moriarty family and became nothing more than the family's personal manservant.

John had just been ordered by his stepsisters to clean out the barn. Which he had done yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. So there wasn't much of a mess to be cleaned up. It really wasn't to be said that his stepsisters were the brightest of people, not that John was complaining. He was perfectly content to pretend that he was cleaning out the barn while he instead sat in the comfortable company of the only two beings in the Kingdom of Baker that truly seemed to like him. They were two horses. One was a mousy brown colored female that had the tendency to be skittish and nervous; her name was Molly. The second was a large, proud grey horse by the name of Lestrade.

Yes John's only friends happened to be horses. Maybe if he was allowed to have contact with the outside world he would have human friends. But until then John was quite happy with his animal friends.

So John had every intention that day to waste as much time as possible out in the barn brushing Molly and Lestrade as to avoid the house where he was forced to do all sorts of stupid tasks. Like clean invisible spots of the floor or be forced to endure a fashion show put on by his stepsisters, John shuddered at the thought.

As John moved to brush Lestrade's long mane of grey he heard the sound of the Royal Messengers' trumpets. John grabbed his cane from where it was leaning up against the wall. He hobbled to the barn door and poked his head out.

Moriarty swept out of the main house followed by Sally and Andercina. When they approached, one of the messengers slipped off of his large black steed and pulled a scroll out from within his royal blue cloak.

The messenger cleared his throat:

"On the behave of our Queen, I hereby invite the of-age daughters and sons of the Kingdom of Baker to attend a masquerade ball tonight for the Prince Sherlock so he may choose his spouse from the them." The messenger gave a low bow before climbing back onto his horse. The group departed to the next house.

"Oh Father!" Andercina cried in an oddly deep voice. "A ball! For the prince no less! I hope he picks me―"

John couldn't help snorting. He immediately regretted the action when the family rounded on him.

"What are you doing?" Sally snarled, sticking her nose in the air.

"Cleaning the barn," John tried very hard not to add, obviously.

"And that is where you will be spending the remainder of the night." Moriarty ordered tartly, "Under no circumstances are you to attend the ball with my children. Is that understood, Johnny boy?"

John gritted his teeth together. It hadn't even crossed his mind that he would want to go to some stupid ball for some poncy prince. But regardless John was of age. He should be allowed to go. However, John merely nodded tersely to Moriarty before retreating into the barn. It wasn't worth it to start a fight.

"Bloody wanker." John growled as he leaned his cane against a wall and began brushing Lestrade's mane again.

It was near dusk when John heard the sound of the carriage pulling up. He hobbled over to the barn door to peek out again. It was one of the royal blue castle carriages pulled by two large black horses. John watched as Andercina and Sally hurried out of the main house followed closely by Moriarty who was dressed in one of his black traveling cloaks. Sally was dressed it a huge puffy, peach ball gowned with a cat-like mask. Andercina was wearing a horribly beige colored dress that was far too tight. She/he/it had on a matching beige bird styled mask. They glared at John as they walked by and Sally even stuck out her tongue at him when she struggled into the carriage.

John rolled his eyes, idiots. He watched as Moriarty waited until the carriage disappeared from view. He turned to give John a warning glare, "You will stay put." Before he turned the opposite direction from the carriage and hurried down the lane.

"Off to visit Sebastian for god knows what," John muttered under his breath as he watch Moriarty's retreating figure.

John sighed. He felt Molly nuzzle the back of his head affectionately. John turned to pet her on the nose.

"It's not like I want to go to some stupid ball for some prince," He told her. She stared at him with reproachful eyes and he added, "Seriously! Why would I want to marry a prince?" John grimaced at the thought.

Molly continued to stare and John finally grumbled, "But it's only-"

"-Fair that you should go." finished smooth male voice from behind him.

John snatched up his cane and jerked around to face the intruder. He raised his cane as one would a sword.

"Relax, John," The man was tall. He had a rounded face and a sharp nose. He wore an elegant three-piece pin-striped suit and was leaning on a black umbrella.

"Who are you?" John asked but didn't lower his cane.

"Hmmm. It seems you don't need that to stand properly." the man mused.

John leveled his cane at him and growled, "Who. Are. You."

"I am your fairy godmother, John."

"Fairy... What." John snorted. "You don't look like a fairy godmother."

The 'Fairy Godmother' sighed. He brought up his umbrella to exclaim it, "And have you met very many in your time?"

"Well, no. But―" John started but the man with the umbrella cut him off.

"So how do you know I'm not, in fact, your fairy godmother?" He raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't," John grumbled lowering his cane.

They stood staring at each other for a full minute before John finally said, "So?"

His Fairy Godmother rolled his eyes, "I'm here to grant your wish, John."

"What wish?"

"It's your wish," The man in the suit shrugged.

John blinked at him before turning to stare down at his feet. After a long moment John finally asked very softly, "I want to go to the ball."

"I know."

John jerked his head up to glare at him, "Then why did I have to say it?"

"Because you did," He replied mysteriously, and then he became business-like, "You'll need a nice suit."

He waved his umbrella at John and John gasped in admonishment when his simple tunic and trousers were turned into a perfectly fitted black suit with a silver tie and silver Oxford shoes. His dull wooden cane was turned into a glass one was swirling designs.

"That looks very handsome," The Fairy Godmother said with a nod. "Now for transport."

The taller man's eyes swept around the barn before they finally landed on old, dusty black carriage that had once belonged to the Watson family.

"Perfect," He murmured. With a flick of his umbrella the carriage became brand new looking and silver ties linked it to Molly and Lestrade.

"Well," His Fairy GodMother made a shooing motion with his umbrella at John, "Get in. You don't want to be late, now do you?"

John shook his head and climbed up into the carriage, "Doesn't it need a driver..." John stopped and stared at his Fairy Godmother that was now dressed as a carriage driver; top hat and everything. "Right. That works." John muttered.

"Oh and before I forget: you must be back before midnight or else you clothes will turn back to your rags," he leveled John with a serious look.

"Midnight. Right. I will," John promised.

The Fairy Godmother nodded, "Good. You'll need to wear this as well."

He handed John a mask. It was silver like his tie. It was designed with a crescent moon and stars. It was quite lovely.

John fastened it behind his head and nodded to his Fairy Godmother who gave him a small smile before shutting the carriage door.

_.-.-.-._

It was only two hours into Prince Sherlock's masquerade ball and Sherlock was already hiding. He had found a lovely little spot behind a rather hideous statue of a past king of Baker. He peeked out from behind the statue to see if the vile one in the beige dress and beige bird mask was still following him. Sherlock could see that the beige one and the peach one (who he could tell were siblings) were standing by the refreshments table that was but a few feet from his current location. Sherlock groaned and slipped back behind the statue trying to figure out the best plan of escape. He slide to the ground and rested his head on his knees. Curse the Queen and her bloody ball, Sherlock thought viciously.

"Not much one for dancing, then?" Came a mild voice from above him.

Sherlock didn't even bother to lift his head, "Not with dull idiots."

The voice hummed thoughtfully, "And is everyone dull idiots? And the name is John, by the way. John Watson"

Sherlock sighed and tilted his head up to stare at John, the apparent owner of the voice. He was short for his age (which Sherlock guessed him to be around a similar age as himself). He was average looking but handsome with short blond hair and dark blue eyes. He also had a glass cane...Interesting.

"Your limp is psychosomatic," Sherlock started bluntly and John jerked back in surprise, "You don't lean on it when you stand showing that you forget about it; however, when you walk you rely on it heavily. One of your parents was inside the military—current gender roles suggest it was most likely your father. Your movements and the way you stand show you mimicked him as a child because you are too young to be in the military yourself. Your mother and father are dead. The calluses on your hands, obviously from manual labor, are recent. This says both of your parents died and you were forced to take up a manual labor job to pay for yourself." When the prince finished speaking he stared up at John expectantly. "Well? Did I get it right?"

"Oh!" John shook himself and blinked a couple of times, "That was fantastic." He murmured softly staring down at Sherlock in awe.

"You think so?" Sherlock said in surprise.

"Oh yeah. It was bloody brilliant," John nodded.

Sherlock hummed softly, "That's not what people usually say."

"What do people usually say?"

"Piss off." John burst out laughing and Sherlock grinned.

"You did get one thing wrong, though," John said after he finished laughing.

"Oh?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

"I do manual labor for my stepfather and stepsisters. Not for a job."

"Ah," Sherlock muttered, "There is always something."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Sherlock found himself thinking about the curious man who had slipped down to sit beside him. He wasn't terrible, Sherlock mused. He had even told him that his deductions were fantastic and brilliant when most people had to resist the urge to punch Sherlock because he was a prince. He was quite attractive as well, that was nice. Sherlock stared intently at the John's profile lost in thought. When John turned to give him an amused look and a small, lopsided smile, Sherlock made his decision.

John Watson had to be his husband.

"Dance with me," Sherlock stood and offered John his hand.

John grinned and took the offered hand, "I'd love to."

They swept into the center of the ballroom and every eye in the room turned to the two waltzing men. Neither paid the jealous onlookers any mind, but got lost in each other. It wasn't until the clock chime that they finally stopped.

John jerked out of Sherlock's grip when he heard the clock chime midnight. He fled the ballroom and didn't even stop even when he heard Sherlock yell for him.

John tore down the castle steps. As he did he could feel his beautifully made suit turn to dirty rags. His silver mask shimmered and disappeared. He found his family's dusty carriage waiting for him and Lestrade and Molly hooked to it with dull leather ties. His Fairy Godmother was nowhere in sight.

John hoisted himself into the driver's seat and flicked the rains, "Come on guys. Hurry home."

John had left his glass cane.

_.-.-.-._

The next day John found himself scrubbing the kitchen floors. Sally and Andercina had been sulking all day because the prince hadn't chosen one of them but a 'blond man in a silver mask'.

But that was crazy! John kept thinking. Why would someone as brilliant and extraordinary as Sherlock want to marry someone as boring as him? He was nothing more than a manservant and Sherlock was a prince—soon to be a king.

John jerked out of his thought by the sound of a very familiar voice that came from the front of the house.

"I have no interest in your repulsive children, Master Moriarty. I'm here for your stepson or should I say manservant?" His tone was as cold as ice.

"Sherlock," John whispered in disbelief. He dropped his rag and threw open the kitchen door. Sherlock was standing in the foyer looking down his nose at Moriarty who was seething. Sally and Andercina were scowling in the corner at the prince.

"Sherlock!" John called louder. He couldn't bring himself to leave the doorway of the kitchen, however.

When the prince's eyes met his, Sherlock's face visibly softened, "Come, John. The Queen wishes to meet my betrothed."

John laughed and made his way to stand next to Sherlock, "When did I become your betrothed?"

Sherlock smiled down at him, "When you didn't call me a freak."

John linked his fingers with Sherlock's and lean him from the house and his dumbstruck abusers.

"And why would I ever call you a freak?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Most people do. But then again, you aren't most people."

"I suppose I'm not," John agreed as Sherlock helped him into the royal carriage.

When the settled in, Sherlock leaned forward and grabbed a glass cane from the opposite seat, "You forgot this."

John laughed and captured the prince's lips in a kiss.

_.-.-.-._

Hamish stared up at his Daddy when he had finished, "What happened then?" The little boy asked.

"Well they got married and lived happily ever after," Daddy told him.

"Oh." Hamish murmured, "I liked that story." Then after a moment he said, "I'm hungry, can Papa make breakfast?"

"Of course. Come along Hamish. I'll need your help." Papa slipped out of the bed followed closely by his son. After a moment Daddy followed after with a sigh and a happy smile.

The End!


End file.
